Mother Bear Speaking into Bones

A finding feathers kind of day.

Minnows skip just below the surface.

Tree genuflect towards nakedness and to complete the invisible circuit, so must I.

*

A paradox of relief and sorrow swirls in September breezes.

Stars pulse and beam in a direct route unto expanse.

You – you – you.

*

Acorns, whirling leaves, hydrangea blooms tapping the ground.

The magic of October rises in the colder nights, but the funny thing is that it only feels magical when it is shared.

And I cannot make it real.

*

Turkeys amble in the back yard, ducking through the split-rail fence, sometimes hopping over it.

I wake later and later, a symptom of Mother Bear speaking to my bones again.

Coffee, tea, coffee, repeat.

*

He watches me cry and I cannot hold it back.

Who gets the whole of me; who wants the whole of me.

Sure, the veil thins to the promised land, but there is a leaving.

*

Slipping in and out of sleep pockets.

I say goodbye to my grandmother in a dream as she journeys into death.

To let someone down in this life is a promise that we will all be here one day again to give it another try; to learn another lesson; to put the teacher and students to death.

*

The cabin up north but first, make only one more bowl of soup and offer it to Jesus.